


forget-me-nots

by popcornizuku



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, One Shot, Quentin Smith Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popcornizuku/pseuds/popcornizuku
Summary: The little blue flowers look nothing like the Entity’s favorite pustulas or any of the other bouquets of flowers they can give as offerings. He can’t place a name on them, but they’re strikingly normal looking. Quentin reaches down to pick one of them up, and inspects it carefully, looking for any telltale signs of the Entity’s influence. There’s none. It’s just a normal flower.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Quentin Smith
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	forget-me-nots

**Author's Note:**

> warning for freddy saying some nasty stuff, I don't think it's too bad, but just making sure

After going through as many trials as Quentin has, he’s gotten pretty good at it. He may not make it every round, and he makes stupid mistakes more than he’d like, but it makes it worth it when his teammates don’t suffer anymore than they already have. Over however long he’s been in the Entity’s realm, he’s ended up on good terms with everyone, but he‘s befriended a number of other survivors. 

Claudette and him have bonded over their passion for helping others, and are the designated healers of the group. If someone’s hurt, they’ll usually seek out one of them. Laurie has been through hell and back because of some creep who intends to kill her, and Quentin can relate. Beyond their shared trauma, they actually have a lot in common and are great teammates in trials. Her little trick with the glass shard has saved his ass more times than he could count. Kate, Feng, and Dwight were all wonderful friends, who’ve lifted his spirits in the darkest of times. More than once, he’s found himself giving up hope on making it out, and every time they found a way to make him feel better. Jake and David were, uh, unique in their approaches towards him, but he appreciated their aid and companionship.

Then, there’s Steve Harrington. Quentin would probably consider him his best friend within this hellscape (His heart aches thinking of Nancy back home. He misses her every damn day, and he prays she’s safe). Steve is the one he will first think to seek out, no matter if it’s after a nightmare, a trial, or just boredom. The two of them clicked instantly once they started chatting (Quentin had primarily avoided him at first, thinking he was just some stuck up jock, but after saving his life in a trial at the expense of himself, his view of Steve changed drastically), having tons in common and a lot of similar personality traits. They both had strong wills, determination bringing them one step farther than most thanks to harrowing past experiences, and they knew just how to mold each other into something even stronger. When they make it out together, it’s usually with cheers and fanfare that probably annoyed whatever killer they faced. They’re close, and with that closeness, Quentin started feeling... things. 

Alright, he knew exactly what a crush feels like, he had one on Nancy Holbrook for years, but... he’s never had a crush on a guy. A guy like Steve, no less. He was about a thousand yards outside of his league. Plus, it’s highly unlikely that Steve would even be into guys. It’s just... it’s pointless.

And yet, his heart fluttered in his chest every time Steve wrapped his arm around his shoulders. He felt weirdly hot in his face every time Steve laughed or smiled at him. His hands get clammy whenever Steve offers his shoulder to rest his head on. He felt a need to scream when he found himself staring at Steve just a little too long. His tongue gets all tied when they’re talking, his mind running a mile a minute. He is awful at keeping his cool, and he thanks the lord that Steve is just oblivious enough not to notice. It’s just a crush. He prays that with time it will go away.

Except, it doesn’t. If anything, it just gets worse and worse.

He starts catching himself staring, even in the middle of trials. He finds himself having dreams of Steve whenever he manages to get a little bit of shut eye. His heart won’t calm down near him and he has to bite the inside of his cheek from making any embarrassing noises.

It floods his mind almost every minute, especially when he’s alone. He sits on the edge of the campfire and for a moment he ponders telling Steve how he feels… but, no... he can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t ruin this wonderful, amazing friendship. He doesn’t want to lose one of the few good things he has going for him here. So, he swallows the words he so badly wants to say and quietly admires from afar. Steve waves at him, gesturing for him to join in the game of war he’s playing with Ace, Ash, and Jane, and Quentin could never deny him, so he smiles and joins in. Steve ruffles his hair when he loses, grinning and telling him there’s always next time, and Quentin stares a bit longer than socially appropriate, only one thought running through his mind.

_ Oh. I love him. _

-

Quentin’s feet pound hard against the ground of Hawkins Laboratory, a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, and his lungs burning with every breath he takes. He’s not had the best of luck this trial, seeming to run into the invisible menace, Wraith, every time he turns a corner. Despite his wailing bell practically turning him into a ghost, Quentin manages to get the killer off his tail and he shoves himself into a locker to catch his breath. Now that he has a moment to think without blind panic and an instinctual need to run away clouding his thoughts, he realizes just how bad his breathing is. He’s wheezing, his chest heaving with every intake and shuddering with every outtake. His lungs just can’t seem to pull enough air in. His hands begin to tremble, wondering what’s going on with him, when he feels something climbing up his esophagus. Oh god, is he really about to puke? Plague isn’t a part of this trial, why does he feel so sick? His throat aches, as a coughing fit seizes him and he doubles over with a desperate need to breathe and not enough air, there’s not enough air, he can’t breathe, god, he can’t—

To his astonishment, right before his very eyes, a handful of flowers tumble from his lips and onto the floor. Though he still feels a pressure in his chest, this seems to appease his body for now, but all Quentin could do is stare. The little blue flowers look nothing like the Entity’s favorite pustulas or any of the other bouquets of flowers they can give as offerings. He can’t place a name on them, but they’re strikingly normal looking. Quentin reaches down to pick one of them up, and inspects it carefully, looking for any telltale signs of the Entity’s influence. There’s none. It’s just a normal flower. 

How? How did he cough up a flower? Why is he having breathing problems all of a sudden?

The locker doors are pulled open with a loud screech and Quentin has a heart attack, the flower falling onto the floor again. However, instead of the killer, it was a familiar face. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Claudette, and with a slightly rough voice, he says, “Sorry, this one’s taken.”

She frowns, “The exit gates have been powered. We need to go.”

Oh. He hadn’t heard the blaring horn. Now that he’s out of the locker and looking around, he can spot the auras of the two gates in the distance. Claudette takes a hold of his wrist and is about to pull him away, when she spots the blue flowers at Quentin’s feet.

“Where did those come from?”

Quentin’s heart skips a beat, because he really doesn’t know how to explain this. Would she even believe him? To be fair, there’s a lot of strange things that happen to all of them on a daily basis, but this is weird on a different level. Claudette takes one look at his momentary panic, the flowers on the ground, and her eyes widen, as if a light had turned on above her head, “Did you cough those up?”

He nearly chokes in surprise, “How did you know?”

Claudette gives him a funny look, before tugging on his wrist, “Let’s get out of here and talk about it at the campfire. Okay?”

Slowly, he nods in agreement and points the way to the closest gate. Wraith catches up with them in the end, but he only manages to land a nasty gash on Quentin’s arm before the two of them make it through. Claudette and him let David and Kate tell the others how the trial went, and she brings him aside to inspect his wound. He winces as she cleans off the wound, and he can’t take the silence that has settled between them anymore, “How did you know I coughed up those flowers?”

Claudette’s smile isn’t as bright as her normal ones, but it’s genuine and she doesn’t sound condescending when she replies, “It’s hanahaki, right? I’ve never seen someone catch it in person before.”

Quentin blinks, “Hana-what?”

This gives the botanist pause, her hands stopping in midair from wrapping his arm up, “Hanahaki disease. Have you... have you never heard of it?” He shakes his head and she looks wholeheartedly surprised, and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop, “Wow. I, um, I know it’s a bit rare, but it’s all over the media and I used to talk about it all the time with my friends in middle school. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it before.”

Something was very wrong here. He swallows nervously, “So, what exactly is it?”

Claudette’s cheeks flush a little and she giggles, “Well, it’s a bit of a strange disease. It’s said that when a person falls deeply in love with someone and suffers from unrequitedness for so long, flowers begin to bloom in their chest. As time goes on and as the person’s affections deepen, the more flowers they’ll cough up.” She looks down, her brow furrowing, “However, it is possible for the flowers to become so heavy and numerous that that person can no longer breathe. Normally, someone would have the option to have surgery done to remove the plant, and thus, the affection for that person. The only other way to cure it is to confess and that person’s love be reciprocated.”

Quentin feels a bit dizzy, to be perfectly honest. Was he really in that deep? Apparently. How come he’s never heard of this before? There’s no way this is normal. Is it something that’s discovered in the time between him and Claudette? No, that seems unlikely. His head is throbbing from confusion, pain, and his earlier fit. Claudette gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, “You have some time, the flowers have just now appeared after all, but since we have no access to a hospital, I recommend telling whoever you love how you feel.”

He vigorously shakes his head, “N-Nope, no, not happening, I can’t.”

“Why not?” She tilts her head, seeming to ignore his incredulous look as she begins to guess, “Is it Laurie? Kate?” She gasps, a gentle hand on his arm, “Is it me?”

Quentin nearly gets whiplash from shaking his head again, and sputtering, “No, it’s not! N-Not you, or Kate, or Laurie. No, y-you’re all just my friends.”

Claudette sighs in relief, “Oh, good. No offense, I just don’t feel that way about you.”

He shrugs, smiling shakily, “Neither do I, so it’s okay.”

She hums thoughtfully, eyeing him and he feels sweat drip down his neck from the scrutiny, “Is it… wait, is it Steve?”

Even if he gives no verbal confirmation, the way his entire face goes red, from his cheeks, to his ears, to his neck, it’s pretty obvious. He also nearly slaps himself from gesturing a bit wildly, attempting to vehemently deny, “N-No, Steve is my best friend! I would never—stop looking at me like that.”

Claudette just smiles through it, and gives his uninjured arm a little shake, “You should tell him. Forget-me-nots are honestly fitting for you two and a flower that’s used for romantic gestures a lot. I’m sure Steve has heard about hanahaki, I don’t know how you haven’t, so he’ll be understanding.”

Quentin decides against commenting on that last bit, and instead focuses on, “Forget-me-nots?”   
  


“Mhm. I recognized them. They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

Quentin couldn’t help the slightly dopey smile on his face, when he nods, “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

Claudette finishes patching him up, and gives his head a motherly pat as she stands, “I recommend telling Steve before your condition worsens. I mean, hanahaki attacks usually worsen whenever your affections grow or they can happen at random. It probably won’t be fun coughing up flowers with a killer on your tail. Or, well, I can’t imagine it’s fun, in general. Anyway, I have faith in you, okay? It’ll be okay.”

He had a hard time meeting her eyes as he gave a lame acknowledgement, because he can’t find it within himself to agree with her sentiment.

-

Claudette is right. She always is. It’s a shame that Quentin doesn’t listen to her more.

The flowers get harder and harder to deal with. Pretty much everyone in camp has caught onto the sudden appearance of blue flowers and that they come from Quentin. His frequent coughing fits are normal and usually faced with sympathetic pats on the back or reassuring words. Claudette is at his side more often than not, encouraging him and helping him. She keeps telling him he needs to say something to Steve. He doesn’t take her advice. Blood starts staining the petals and the fits leave his vision hazy around the edges.

When word of the disease infecting him starts getting around, Quentin finds some solace in the fact that Steve is just as lost about hanahaki disease as he is. There doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern when it comes to those who have and haven’t heard of the disease. It’s odd, as most things are in this realm. Those like Laurie, Tapp, Ash, Cheryl, and a couple others were just as gobsmacked by the existence of a disease that makes you spit out flowers. However, no one understands why such a rare illness is being inflicted all of a sudden. No one has ever gotten sick with any kind of ailment, and even after Quentin dies in a trial, the flowers persist. There have been plenty of others pining, and nothing has happened, it never touched anyone else. It doesn’t make any sense.

Quentin would love to listen to Claudette and for these stupid flowers to stop corrupting his lungs, but the idea of telling Steve how he feels causes panic to encompass his mind and heart. Then there’s the now severe problem of what it will mean if his feelings aren’t reciprocated. Before, the problem had only been losing one of his closest friends (and probably a significant chunk of his dignity), but now there is a very real and very scary fact that Steve not feeling the same way could result in a fate worse than death. He really hopes Steve hasn’t noticed how much he’s avoiding him, but he has a feeling that he has. Based on his worried looks and awkward greetings, he’s pieced together that Quentin really does not want to talk to him. It breaks his heart, but every second he spends at Steve’s side, it makes him want to cough out a flower-infested lung.

Trying to balance the fluttering in his stomach and the itch in his throat is becoming increasingly difficult, especially in trials. There was one killer, however, who delighted in this handicap more than anyone else.

Whenever the dreamwalker and the nightmare are placed in a trial together, things rarely go Quentin’s way. For one, he’s far more reckless than he normally is. He uses risky maneuvers to keep Freddy’s attention on him, so the others can focus on generators and escaping. He will take the fall, as long as Freddy doesn’t hurt anyone else. Usually it takes some work to catch Freddy’s eye and keep it on him, but it seemed this time the killer was eager to keep trailing after Quentin. His usual threats and nasty words bounced harmlessly off of Quentin as they circle the Chapel, and he wonders if maybe Freddy is just really bored or is more pissed off about their last match than Quentin realized. Then, Freddy says, “Quentin, let’s tell each other a secret. Tell me who is killing you and I’ll tell you what I’ll do to them.”

This makes him pause in his strides, turning to the demon in bewilderment, “What?”

Freddy seems content to temporarily stop the chase, running his clawed hand over the debris, “I suppose you took the term ‘lovesick’ a bit too seriously, huh?”

Quentin blanches, realization striking him like a bolt of lightning. Oh god, he knows. One of the other killers must have explained it to him, or he overheard the survivors talking about him. 

“So, come on, Quentin. Tell me. Aren’t we friends?” Freddy cackles when Quentin merely glares at him, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just figure it out myself. After all, no one here knows you, little Quentin, quite like I do.”

He shudders, taking tentative steps away from Freddy and closer to a palette. Quentin doesn’t respond, which seems to irritate him, “You can’t deny it. How about a game? If I guess it correctly in one try, I get to kill you. If I’m wrong, well, I’ll give you a head start.”

Not as if he has a choice, but he still nods. He won’t reach the palette in time before Freddy slices him open, and he’s already bleeding badly. Besides, he’s fairly confident that there’s no way in hell Freddy Krueger could possibly know.

Freddy grins, that maniacal glint always present, as he sings-songs his answer, “It’s the babysitter.”

Though that title can apply to a couple of them, he knows Freddy has jumped to the same wrong conclusion that Claudette did. He laughs hollowly, “Nope, it’s not Laurie. Sorry, Krueger. I’ll be taking my head start.”

Before he could run, Freddy scratches his knives hard against the stone ground, loud enough to make Quentin jump and freeze up. He sighs, “Not so fast, little Quentin. I wasn’t referring to Miss Strode.”

No way. There’s no way—

“I was referring to that infuriating Steve Harrington.”

Quentin must have had one hell of a look on his face, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Freddy laugh harder. The demon looks positively delighted, “I can’t believe you ever doubted me. Now,” His grin turns dark, his claws shining fiercely in the dim lighting, “Time to die.”

He makes a run for it, his shock turning to adrenaline and he’s able to miraculously make it to the palette in time. Freddy growls in indignation from the assault, “I don’t tolerate cheaters, Quentin!” 

Despite the distance the dreamwalker was creating, his voice reaches him in the nightmarish world he controls, so it sounds like it’s right next to his ear, “Little Quentin, you can’t escape me. You can never escape. I’ll have to give your little crush a surprise next time I see him. How would you feel if I ruined him like I ruined you? Or would you rather I tear him apart limb by limb and listen to him scream? I can cut him to pieces, and you’ll be helpless to stop me. Isn’t this fun, Quentin? I’ll make him my new toy after you die.”

He wants to scream, he wants to strangle Freddy, he wants to make him shut up, but he can’t. Because, like Freddy said, he is helpless. He runs until his feet hurt, his lungs burn, and his vision blurs. The telltale heartbeat of a nearby killer nor Freddy’s song could be heard, so he assumes he made it far enough away. He collapses onto his knees, and hurls up whatever was in his stomach. A couple flowers came along, too, and it all left his throat feeling destroyed. He curls up against the stone wall, trying hard to get his panic under control and failing miserably. 

“Quentin? Oh god, what happened? Are you okay?”

That voice makes him perk up, and Quentin’s tired eyes meet Steve’s worried ones. Steve… Steve’s here? 

He kneels down in front of him, frowning, “Let me heal you, okay? You’ve done enough to distract him, Meg is working on the final gen right now. We need to get ready to run for the nearest gate.”

When Steve reaches forward, Quentin violently flinches back. The hurt on his face makes Quentin’s heart ache, but he’s so scared and Freddy’s words will not stop repeating in his mind and god, why does Freddy have to ruin everything?

Quentin feels tears start to build in his eyes, and he spoke through gritted teeth, “Are you real?”

The hurt turns to confusion, and he tilts his head, “What?”

“Are you real or just another trick? I’m fucking tired of your games, Freddy.”

Steve shakes his head, holding his hands up defensively, “It’s really me, Quentin, I swear. I-I don’t really know how to prove it to you, so just… trust me, I guess. I’m real, you’re real, and we’re gonna get out of here.”

Quentin manages a small smile at that, minutely relaxing, but keeping his guard up, “Okay. Heal me.”

Steve helps him to his feet and wraps up the slashes left by Freddy as best as he can. Just as he finishes, the final generator lights up and the alarm signaling everything was powered up rings across the map. Even after the bright indicators of where the gates are fades away, Quentin can still see its faint aura. Steve nods to him, and Quentin starts leading the way. They pass through the carnival scene, the loud music making Quentin’s ears ring, before finally coming up to a gate. Meg and Cheryl are already there, and he lets himself breathe a sigh of relief. They’ll be okay. 

“Quentin…”

The dreamwalker froze, and whirls around to try and spot where the killer is coming from. But, he can’t see him anywhere. None of the others reacted like they heard it. Steve was saying something, but he can’t hear him, not over the voice that was rattling in his mind.

“Sweet Quentin, what did I tell you? You can never escape. Not from me. Do you really think just escaping this trial means you’re free? No, you’ll come back to me. You always have. Because deep down, you know you’re mine.”

Quentin tries plugging his ears, smacking against his head, but the voice won’t go away. He cries out, “Shut up! Shut up!”

“Cry, my little Quentin. There’s nothing sweeter to me than your tears.”

The cackling is nauseating. It’s hard to breathe, his head feels heavy. Freddy is just messing with him, he knows. Trying to get under his skin, probably frustrated at the lack of kills. His friends are safe. That’s what matters. Freddy can taunt him all he wants, he’s lost this round. Steve was gripping his shoulder, gentle, but firm. A comforting gesture that makes his heart swell despite his situation. Quentin feels the sadly familiar feeling of flowers climbing up his throat, and it’s as if his ears pop and he can finally hear his friends. He never thought he’d be grateful for this damned disease, but he feels it in this moment. He coughs up petals, all the while Steve is at his side, offering encouragement. The gate finally opens with a screech, Meg and Cheryl gesturing for them to follow and running out. If a rational part of Quentin’s mind was working, he’d wonder why Freddy hadn’t caught up with them yet, but he isn’t thinking properly. Once his fit finally subsides, Steve and him also start making it through the gate. There’s a noise behind them, but Quentin is more than done with this and keeps going. However, Steve stops, just before the threshold. He turns this way and that in question, before Freddy’s hand sprouts forth and stabs Steve through the chest. Quentin screams, falling to the ground in shock, Steve’s blood on his face, chest, and hands. Freddy laughs maniacally, “Found you!”

Quentin wants to reach for Steve’s dying body, try and save him somehow, but it was too late. He crawls back far enough that Freddy can’t reach him, but the killer doesn’t seem to mind. He smirks, holding up Steve’s body by his collar and hisses, “Remember, Quentin. You, Dean, Jesse, Kris, Nancy, and even your precious boyfriend and new friends here, are all mine.”

He glares daggers into the demon, “Burn in hell, Freddy.”

He chuckles darkly, “Not before I take you and Nancy with me.”

Quentin runs, the echoes of Freddy’s laughter following him long after he reaches the campfire.

-

Quentin finds Steve near the edge of the clearing, taking inventory of his items. He looks up at the incoming footsteps, and he seems surprised to see the dreamwalker. Quentin gives him a small smile, not quite meeting his eyes, as he spoke, “Hey. Um… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Steve slowly nods his head, “I, uh, I’m fine. The Entity patched me up. I know I died, which sucked, but honestly, I feel like it should be me asking if you’re okay. You were freaking out a lot near the end there.”

He winces, his shoulders hunching up slightly, “Yeah, sorry. Freddy was just being more of a nuisance than usual. I’m fine.”

He looks doubtful of that, and to his credit, he does ask, “Are you sure?”

Quentin nods, scratching at the back of his neck, “Yeah, I’m sure. W-Well, uh, I’m glad you’re okay. See you.”

He tries to make a speedy exit, already feeling some flowers start to protest, but Steve catches his wrist in a tight hold. Quentin stiffens instinctively, and Steve quickly releases his grip, “Sorry, I just… Did I do something wrong? Or hurt you, or offend you?”

Oh no. He shakes his head, trying to leave again, “No, we’re cool, Steve. I-I should—“

“Wait, please,” He stops, but only because he’s surprised by how upset Steve sounds, “Quentin, I’m not an idiot. I know you’ve been avoiding me. If we’re supposedly fine, then why?”

“Steve, not right now—“

“Yes, right now. I just want to know why. Is that so bad? I miss talking to you and hanging out, but for a while now, you’ve been avoiding me. You won’t even let be a part of the same group you’re talking with. The last time I ended up on terms like this with someone, it was because we both had done some hurtful things to each other, so I just want to know what’s going on. I didn’t mean to hurt you and you’ve never hurt me, so I’m just… I’m confused and worried about you.”

He wishes the Entity could swallow him up for another trial right now, but of course not. This is really happening. Steve has that look on his face that tells him that he’s not letting this go until he gets some answers. He really gets stubborn at the worst of times.

Quentin tried to suppress the panic wanting to take over, and mumbles, “Steve, what do you think the reason is?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Please, d-don’t make me say it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I… I can’t…”

He chokes up, and he just can’t bring himself to go through with it. He can’t hold them back anymore, not with Steve pushing him and being this close to him. Steve’s frustrated frown turns to worry when Quentin starts coughing, and he comes to his side to rub circles on his back, and the caring gesture just makes it worse. He coughs and coughs, flowers and petals and blood and spit all mix together in a horrific display. His vision blackens for a moment, and then Steve is helping him kneel on the ground, and the flowers won’t stop. This is it, huh? It’s so hard to breathe, and Steve is right there at his side, and his throat aches, and his lungs burn, and he can’t breathe—

He takes a gasping breath, the fit finally subsiding for a moment. Steve is clearly fretting, asking again and again what he can do to help, what’s wrong, talk to him. Quentin just leans into him and tries to steady his breathing. Steve keeps him steady, his touch comforting and gentle and warm. He whispers worriedly, “Are you with me?”

Quentin nods, his voice rough and hoarse, “Yeah.”

“You need to do something about this. It’s getting worse. I don’t know if you want my help or really care about what I have to say, but just hear me out. Whoever it is would be an idiot if they deny you, okay? You’re a great guy, caring and loyal. You can be reckless, but you always have the best intentions. They’d be lucky and if they don’t realize that, fuck them. I hate seeing you suffering like this, so please, tell them.”

Quentin’s heart skips several beats during that spiel, and shit, he has to sit up for this. He manages to get himself up and leaning against a tree to face Steve. He probably looks like he’s been run over by a truck, his voice is gravelly, and he’s probably two minutes from passing out, but he’s so sick and tired of this. 

He steels himself and admits, “Steve, I’m in love with you. I don’t know when I started feeling this way, but you’ve always been such a good friend to me and even if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t hold it against you. I’m sorry I made you feel like the reason I was avoiding you was your fault, because it wasn’t, it was all me, and this stupid disease. I… I should have told you sooner, but I was scared and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship and I was being completely selfish about it, but I just… I-I don’t know, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. But, here I am now. I’ve said it.”

Steve’s mouth had fallen agape, shock clear as day on his face. His expression softens when he finishes his speech, and he tentatively reaches a hand out to cover his own, “Are you serious? Quentin, you… yeah, you should have told me sooner. Then again, maybe I should have said something, but I didn’t want to make assumptions, or like you said, ruin our friendship. I couldn’t be sure that it was me, and I didn’t want to make things awkward or add that pressure onto you, but I guess my fears were pointless.”

Quentin’s eyes widen, his chest feeling lighter than it has in weeks, “Wait, you… you feel the same way?”

He smiles brightly, squeezing his hand, “Yeah, I do.”

The absolute giddiness that suddenly envelopes his heart is indescribable as he uses his last bit of strength to surge forward and wrap his arms around Steve. He laughs heartily, hugging him back and murmuring something about being careful, but he doesn’t care, he can’t believe this was really happening. He’d been so sure there was no way Steve could feel the same. Between the last trial, his exhaustion, being able to breathe with no qualms, and Steve in his arms, he starts sobbing his heart out. He is so tired, but he’s never felt safer than when Steve curls around him and mutters softly that he’s okay and that he loves him, too. Steve presses a kiss to his temple, softly whispering, “It’s okay, I got you. Sleep, Quentin.”

He falls into a dreamless slumber, Steve holding him securely, and there’s not a single stutter in his breath. The forget-me-nots vanish without a trace.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the hanahaki disease trope so much and I can't believe this is the first time I've written something for it, but I suppose it's appropriate that it's with my favorite boys. also, the headcanon about the two of them cheering at the end of trials comes from razorvine on tumblr :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at popcornnancy, feel free to message me if you want to talk about harringsmith or dbd in general


End file.
